Peachy Keen
by Zebeckras
Summary: Webfoot continuity, almost new. In trying to impress her coworkers, Beth unknowingly overdoes it on the punch. Hijinks ensue!
1. Act I

**Darkwing Duck: Peachy Keen**

* * *

Act I

Beth was fussy, although that wasn't out of the ordinary; there were days when the slightest thing would set her off and she'd fall into a panic. In this case, however, the source of her near-panic was not "the slightest thing" but rather the impending dinner she was having to attend. She'd never had training for this kind of job; nothing had ever prepared her for the eventuality of being invited to a banquet for her business!

Drake had told her that most businesses didn't hold banquets for their employees to begin with, so any training she might have had for the job wouldn't have covered this anyway. She had let the conversation drop after that, although it hadn't quelled any of her anxiety, because Drake was making that face that he made when she was talking a little bit _too_ much and it was usually followed by the sound of him grinding his teeth together and that noisejust made shivers run up and down her back.

At least, she reasoned as she stared balefully at her too-pink face in the mirror, she wouldn't be alone. Bringing two escorts to such an event was unusual, but when she'd asked Mr. Fowler's secretary she'd said- around a bit of stammered "uh..."s- that she didn't think it was against the rules. Of course, such an admission probably meant she'd be getting a lot of looks.

She could handle that, however, as long as she had Launchpad and Drake to keep her company. It was the idea that people would be giving her those looks if she came _alone_ that bothered her. Sure, she'd done fine at her last evaluation; okay, so she'd been promoted. She was still "the new girl" and that probably meant that everyone would be looking and maybe pointing and whispering about how she wasn't measuring up to Bob, or whoever had had the position before her (she didn't think his name was Bob, but it was a good generic name, and she'd come to actually think of him as having that name).

So, she was going to the banquet with not one but _two_ moral supporters. Well, to be honest, only Launchpad was going to be her moral support; she didn't think she could go anywhere important without him at her side. Drake was... well, the opportunity to ask Drake along had arisen, and she'd jumped on it instantly, hoping she sounded normal and natural and not as if she had planned to ask him for the past three hours. He'd said yes, so apparently she'd done it right.

She ran the comb through her hair and breathed deeply; she was as ready as she'd ever be. She felt awkward and clumsy in her dress, and she wondered if her makeup was overdone or underdone and if she was going to look this pink for the rest of the night, but she simply wasn't going to get any more ready than this. Wait... She picked up a barrette, fastened it in the back of her hair, and examined it in the mirror. Not bad.

Okay... _now_ she was as ready as she'd ever be.

* * *

"Wow, you look great!" said Launchpad cheerfully when he and Drake picked her up, a few minutes later. 

Beth blushed. "Uh, thanks," she said uncertainly, smiling at him. "So do you... Both of you." She looked back and forth between them, as if she couldn't decide which one of them to look at. This may well have been because she really wanted to look at Drake, but the look on his face was one of a sort of bored irritation and she had a feeling she shouldn't be staring at him, and yet she felt kind of awkward looking at Launchpad, as if he'd take offense to it. Quite honestly, however, she meant what she said; they both looked, in her eyes, wonderful. Launchpad really wore a tux well- even the bow tie looked nice on him. And Drake... he looked great in everything he wore, of course, but tonight he looked like a millionaire, a prince, the man who would come and sweep her off her feet and romance her across the dance floor--

"Beth?" said Drake, waving his hand in front of her face. Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as she realized with some dejection that she'd been caught staring.

"I'm um... yes?" she stammered, hoping it could maybe be played off.

Drake gave her a sort of dry look, and Beth had the even more disheartening thought that he knew, at least partly, exactly where her mind had been just then. Finally he jerked his finger toward the curb, and said, "Taxi's here."

"Ah. Yes." Apparently, Beth thought, she was indeed going to spend the entire night with her face all flushed and pink. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Well, here comes another embarrassing experience, huh?" She stepped down onto the sidewalk, and Launchpad offered her his arm. She smiled, her spirits lifting slightly, and they walked to the taxi. Drake trailed behind them, rolling his eyes.

The subject of the taxi had led to quite a heated discussion. Not an argument, no- it was important that it not be called an argument. It was a discussion, pure and simple; a heated one. Launchpad had initially offered to drive, and Beth was happy to take him up on the offer, but Drake groused that parking would be near impossible to find. He suggested the taxi. Beth, who had been averse to taxis since she was much younger and whose initial dislike of them had only been strengthened after her last ride in one, was reluctant; you never knew what you were getting into in a taxi, and besides, the fare could be extremely high.

Drake, who evidently had the subject all thought out, had argued- no, no, _answered_ - that they'd probably have to pay for parking, too, and that could be extremely expensive as well. Besides, their fare would be split three ways. More discussion had followed, although Beth's assertions that taxis were bad were largely ignored in the long run. Reluctantly, she'd given in, and Launchpad- who was every bit as neutral as Switzerland when he wanted to be- had followed suit without much thought either way.

So, they were on their way, and despite her misgivings about the event itself Beth felt terribly pleased at being seated snugly in between Drake and Launchpad. It was, somehow, immensely satisfying; both held such a place in her heart that she had found lately that she was only truly happy when she was comfortably around them both. In spite of that, however, she found the ride to the banquet mildly awkward, as- unfortunately- none of them seemed to be able to think of anything to say.

She sighed; it was typical, anyway. She leaned back in her seat, gripping her purse, and counted her pounding heartbeats until they got there.

* * *

The banquet ended up not being that bad after all, although it was still nothing Beth was at all prepared for. Dorian Fowler was a people person, and he could be seen making the rounds of his party, always surrounded by a group of smiling employees, friends, and well-wishers. From her seat at the long table, she could see him wandering the room, occasionally going over to other seated employees. She dreaded when he'd come to see her, as she had no idea how to interact with him. Other employees sometimes called him Dorian, but she simply couldn't see herself doing that. Wouldn't he be offended if she did? Would he be offended if she didn't?? 

She turned to Drake, who was scanning the room with a bored look on his face. "Drake? What if he comes over here?"

Drake blinked and turned to look at her, but said nothing for several moments. Finally, he managed, "..._What?_"

Oh, right. She'd forgotten that whole train of thought that had led up to this point- Drake hadn't been privy to that. "Um. Dorian Fowler, my boss. That's him, walking around." She pointed, and Drake followed the line of her finger to the imposing tuxedoed Goose near the head of the table.

"I don't think he'll come here," Drake said finally. "He's having a good time over there."

"But he might come here," she said nervously, "and then what would I say to him? I don't even know him!"

Drake let out a breath slowly, covering his eyes for a moment, and Beth wondered for a quick second why it was she never seemed to be able to talk to him for long without him doing that. "You could say 'Hi'," he suggested.

Beth decided to hold her tongue instead of telling him why she wasn't even sure if she should be saying "Hi" or "Hello", and the relative merits of each one in terms of professionalism, since she had the distinct impression Drake really didn't want to hear it. In fact, it might even lead to that teeth-grinding noise. "I guess," she murmured, and grabbed for a change of subject. "Where's Launchpad?" she asked, even though she knew.

From the look Drake gave her, he was aware that she knew. He answered anyway. "Hors d'oeuvres table," he said, and pointed to where Launchpad was hovering over the appetizers at the back of the room.

"Well. Guess I'll go see him then," she said quickly, and in one quick motion she stood and hurried off. A moment later she hurried back. "Can I get you anything while I'm up?"

Drake looked truly interested and thoughtful for the first time that night. "Well... if they have any of those cocktail weenies-"

"I think they do. I'll get you some. Be right back." She hurried off again, then seemed to think of something, and came back once again. "Drake- are you, you know, having a good time?"

He considered his response for quite some time. The idea of telling her the truth danced in his head for a while, but he finally shrugged it off. This night was important to her, after all. "You bet," he said, probably unconvincingly, but he wasn't going to put _too_ much effort into it.

She smiled weakly. "'Kay," she answered. "Okay- I'll be right back. For real this time."

"Beth?" he called before she had a chance to go. When she turned back, he said, "You're doing fine. Lighten up and have a good time." She broke into a real smile at last, looking downright relieved. He was glad he'd gone ahead and said it- from the look of things, someone had to before she'd have a good time. As she started to leave again, he thought of something else. "Make sure the weenies have plenty of that red dipping sauce!" he called after her, and several of the other guests turned to stare. He stared back, cleared his throat, and muttered, "Cocktail weenies... you know, with the sauce- looks like ketchup? But it's not- aw, forget it." He crossed his arms and tried to ignore them.

What he desperately needed was someone to remind him why he was there. Sure, Beth was his friend, and she'd asked him. But she was needy, she asked him to do a lot of things, did he have to actually _do_ them all?? He shifted in his seat- thinking of Beth's neediness always made him uncomfortable somehow. She was so pathetically obvious about her crush on him. That, right there, was the reason he'd cave in to almost anything she asked him to do- it was just about the only way he could express the fact that he actually _liked_ her, despite his lack of tolerance with her.

He shook his head in a mixture of fondness and irritation. Funny how she grew on you, really. But what was keeping her, anyway? he wondered. He looked towards the hors d'oeuvres table and saw her there. She had a cup of punch in one hand and a plate of hors d'oeuvres in the other. Launchpad was standing next to her, but Beth's attention was on a tall, smartly dressed woman who was speaking with extravagant hand gestures. Occasionally Beth nodded, but didn't manage to get a word in edgewise- not that she seemed to really be trying, Drake thought. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Launchpad had a hand on her back and was rubbing gently. Drake had to smile a little- anyone would have thought they were together. Which, he thought mildly, wouldn't bother LP at all.

Then again, he wondered what the people who saw her now with Launchpad would think when she came back and sat with him again. He chuckled, despite himself.

Across the room, the woman shook hands with Beth and walked off. Beth downed half of her glass of punch, then went back to the punch bowl and refilled it. After setting the cup down next to Launchpad, she filled a second glass, then began a bizarre balancing act in order to pick up the first cup, hold onto the second, and not drop the hors d'oeuvres. Launchpad made a gesture which Drake figured meant he was offering help, but Beth refused him and came back to Drake, smiling nervously.

"Here. Sorry I took so long. Drink the punch, Mrs. Fowler made it. It's peach. She was talking to me just now and she was really nice but I didn't know what to say. Um... here are your weenies." This resulted in more stares, which Beth, fortunately, didn't notice. She sat down again, briefly. "You know, I haven't seen Tonya here at all yet," she said casually. Drake was just about to ask who Tonya was, when she grabbed his hand frantically. "Oh gosh! Mrs. Fowler is looking over here! Drink the punch, quick, and look like you like it!"

He watched as she took a heavy swallow of the beverage, again downing about half of it at once. Mrs. Fowler had looked away by this point, so he just sniffed his own glass, and put it down again. "Maybe later," he said, hesitantly. "I'm not big on peach."

Beth gulped the punch down and grinned, and at this closeness Drake could see that the grin was forced. "I think something in it has turned," she muttered, as a little shiver went through her. "It's too sweet, and there's a funny aftertaste. But I wouldn't want to hurt Mrs. Fowler's feelings, after all, and she did _make_ the punch to be drinked- drinken? Drank? Um..." She trailed off, looking confused.

"Uh-huh." Drake looked unimpressed with the punch as a whole. "I'll skip it tonight, I think."

She looked at him imploringly. "Could you maybe, you know, pretend to drink it, if she looks your way?"

Of course. Drake sighed. "Okay, fine... why not?"

"Thanks," she said, giving him a big smile and a pat on his shoulder. She seemed to be loosening up more by the second. Now she stood up, her punch glass in hand, and stepped away from the table. "I'm going to go talk to Launchpad for a while now, okay? You sure you're okay here?"

"I'm fine," he said, although truthfully he was bored stiff; still, better to be sitting on his own than jostled and bothered by everyone at the food table. Beth grinned and walked off, losing her balance a bit as she moved away from the table.

When she joined Launchpad again, he was in the process of going back for a third round at the appetizers. "Are they really that good?" she asked, and he grinned when he saw her.

"Try the spinach thingies- they're great," he said, holding a mini-pastry out to her by the toothpick it was stuck on.

"Ugh, no thanks. I don't like spinach. Have you had the punch?"

He set his plate down, giving her his full attention again. "Well, no... is it that good? I mean, ya keep talkin' about it..."

She smiled self-consciously. "I just want Mrs. Fowler to know I like it. I guess I'm kind of kissing up." She giggled. "It's okay- it grows on you. A little sweet at first though." She'd finished her glass, and refilled it again, then handed it to him. "Try."

He sniffed, then took a sip; swallowing quickly, he made a face. "Gah. Too much sugar."

"Well... here, take this." She quickly grabbed a cup, filled it halfway, and took a giant gulp from it, then handed it to him. "There. Now it'll look like you drank plenty." She gave him a wide grin, as if she'd done something rather sneaky.

Grinning himself, he nodded. "Good idea. You sure you don't want any food though?"

"Not that hungry," she said in a sigh, "but I dunno why I was so worried before! Suddenly I feel really a whole lot more... I don't know... _good_."

"Great!" said Launchpad cheerfully, and ate a few hors d'oeuvres. Life was good; all the food he could want, and Beth at his side, looking beautiful. And giggling; her face was flushed, he noticed. But she was smiling, and that was all that really mattered to him.

She took a step backwards, stumbled, and nearly fell. "Eek!"

Launchpad caught her. "You okay?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yeah- I-" Evidently it struck her as funny, because she suddenly started giggling, and couldn't get any other words out. "I must look soooooo stupid!" she said between chuckles, and collapsed onto Launchpad's chest, laughing incessantly.

"No ya don't," Launchpad assured her, but he felt uneasy.

* * *

Back across the room, Drake sniffed the punch again just as Mrs. Fowler looked in his direction. He sighed and took a sip for her benefit- then nearly spit it out again. What was _in_ this!? It was way too sweet, and that kick to the aftertaste... With sinking spirits, he realized the majority of the punch's flavour came from peach schnapps. 

Beth obviously had no idea... How much had she had by now?? Well... maybe she was better at holding her alcohol than one would expect...

* * *

Shaking her head, Beth's giggles slowed down and she tried to keep a straight face. "I'm okay now- I- phhhhht" She burst into giggles again, but then stood up straight and stared at Launchpad seriously. "I am fine now. Really." 

"You sure?"

Her face split into a grin again, but she managed a nod as she boosted herself up to sit on the edge of the hors d'oeuvres table. "Yep! Fine!" She bit her lip and suppressed another giggle. "Stop _looking_ at me like that! I can't help it- I just can't stop smiling!"

"Well..." Launchpad thought about this. She was acting oddly, but she was obviously happy, and if she was happy- was that bad? In this case, he wasn't sure. He tried a smile. "Good."

"Yeah," she said absently, looking around the room, and then suddenly she raised her arm and waved to someone. "Mrs. Fowler! HEY! HEY, MISSUS- MISSUS F!!! The punch is GREEEEEEEAAAAT!" At that, she started giggling again, and leaned over across the table to throw her arms around Launchpad's neck.

And then, it hit him. He hadn't noticed it so much in the punch, but the alcohol on her breath was unmistakable. Oh, boy. Beth didn't drink much, he knew that for a fact; and she was so skinny, and had barely eaten anything that day anyway- the little bit of alcohol she'd had had gone straight to her head. He put his arms around her and tried to pull her down from the table, but she didn't want to go; instead she laughed, and said "Oooh, you smell nice."

Launchpad hoped he wasn't blushing; under the circumstances that wouldn't be good. He looked desperately over to where DW was sitting- he was gonna need help with this.

Drake wasn't in his seat, and for a second Launchpad was about to panic, but a second later he realized Drake was already on his way toward them. He didn't look happy.

"Okay- pull her down," he said, as soon as he reached them, and put his hand on Beth's back to help. Unfortunately, Beth heard his voice and looked up, then smiled.

"Draaaaaake," she drawled, obviously pleased at seeing him. She let go of Launchpad and turned to face her _objet d'amour_. "You're here, that's so _nice_!"

"Beth," Drake said, and he sounded worried, "come on down and let's sit at the table and have some coffee, okay?"

She gave a little pout. "I like it here. And you drink too much coffee. Have some punch, it's _really_ good." She giggled again, and repeated, "Have some punch," then rolled her eyes. "I'm like a broken record player."

Launchpad and Drake looked at each other. "The punch was spiked, DW," Launchpad said quietly.

Drake smacked his forehead. "I _gathered_ that, LP!" he said, with barely restrained irritation. Turning back to Beth, he took her hands in his. "Beth. Beth, look at me."

"Hm?" She turned to him, and gave him a very overly-focused look.

"Okay. The punch was spiked. There's alcohol in it and you've had too much. _Way_ too much, from the look of it," he finished in a mumble. "We need to work our way out of here- What?"

She was staring at him with a big grin plastered all over her face, again. "You're cute," she said simply. He rolled his eyes as she continued. "Look at you... all sushpiciou- supish- pus- all cute." She laughed gently.

Launchpad was looking very deliberately away from them. Drake had the rather irksome feeling that his sidekick was trying not to laugh. He sighed. "Okay, thanks. But Beth, you're drunk."

"NO!" she said, too loud and too shocked. Drake and Launchpad looked around nervously to see if they were attracting a crowd. Beth went on, indignantly: "I am _not_ drunk, because I don't drink. So there."

"Okay fine, you're not drunk, let's go sit," Drake snapped, and pulled her forward. She stumbled down, nearly knocking him over, and grinned over at Launchpad.

"Isn't he cute? Isn't he just the cutest?" she said happily. Drake sighed heavily, and Launchpad looked uncomfortable.

"Uh... sure," he offered finally, and helped Drake support her on their way back to the table.


	2. Act II

**Peachy Keen**

* * *

Act II 

Time alone did not sober Beth up any, unfortunately. They couldn't get her to eat, either, and as the minutes ticked by it became obvious that Beth's limit had been passed quite thoroughly. Drake and Launchpad conferenced together on the easiest way to get her home without anyone noticing; she hadn't liked the idea of leaving when they'd mentioned it a few moments before. There was too much of a chance she might throw a scene if they took her away in a straightforward way.

Meanwhile, Beth was amusing herself without the attention of her escorts, and having a fine time while she was at it. The people next to her were so sweet and attentive; in fact, everyone was absolutely wonderful at this banquet! She had the greatest job in the world, and didn't hesitate to tell everyone about that, many times over.

Just now, the woman sitting next to her was relating some kind of anecdote. Beth wasn't following all of it, but that wasn't the important part; the important part was that she was _socializing_! And, she thought, doing a pretty darn good job of it, too. She smiled and nodded- it was important to do that while you spoke with someone- and stopped nodding a few minutes later, realizing she didn't know how long she'd been doing it. Hm- she hoped that didn't look too silly.

The woman finished the story, and it ended with her being shipped 500 boxes of paper clips by mistake. Beth burst out laughing. "That... is sooooo... funneeeeee!" she gasped, slapping the table. "You- you're very funny. What's your name again?" she managed when she could speak again.

"Natasha Hendrix," her neighbour answered politely.

"I'm Beth Webfoot."

Natasha nodded."I remember... you told me already."

"Oh." Beth could not, for the life of her, remember that part of the conversation. Oh well. "Silly me," she said, laughing again- she didn't seem to really be able to stop, everything was so _funny_ once she thought of it- and gestured at the man sitting next to Natasha, drinking beer and looking bored. "Is that your husband?"

"Er- no. Boyfriend, really... sort of. You know." Natasha gave her a sort of awkward, embarrassed but friendly smile.

Beth nodded. "Gotcha. They're not my husbands, either," she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to indicate her two escorts. "Neither of 'em. But you know- I just love them. Both. Really- I do. I'd marry them both if it were legal."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a smile quirking the corners of her bill. "Really," she said curiously, and laughed. "What an odd thing to say."

"If you knew them- you'd understand. They're so great. Really. I just love them. But don't tell them, it's kind of too weird." She sighed. She was starting to get tired. "What's your name again?"

Natasha smiled again. "You know what, Beth, I think I'm going to go get some more punch." She stood up.

"Ooh! The punch is _really_ good!" Beth said emphatically, and wondered why Natasha was holding her hand over her smile as she left.

She turned back to her friends. Launchpad leaned over. "Are ya sure you don't wanna eat anything?"

She shook her head. "No no no. I can't. I don't have the appeptite." She frowned at her mispronounciation. "Appa- ap-pet-tite. There."

Drake got up and sat where Natasha had been sitting. "Great. Then why don't we go get some fresh air?"

"Ummm..." She looked hesitant, but Launchpad nodded his agreement. "Well... okay..."

They were just starting to get up when a figure loomed before them- a tall, well-dressed Goose. He had a fetching grin and a sandy-colored goatee. "Mr. Fowler!" Beth exclaimed, sitting back down heavily. Drake and Launchpad gave each other panicked looks.

Fowler smiled at the threesome. "Evening, all. Beth, call me Dorian, I prefer a casual atmosphere."

She giggled slightly, as if too in awe of her boss to laugh too much. "'Kay... Dorian. That sounds weird."

He nodded. "I know. I get that a lot. You'll get used to it. So," he looked at Beth's two escorts, "I hope the evening is going well!"

"Oh absoluuuuuutely Mr. Dorian, we're having a _great_ time- everything is _great_," Beth said emphatically, nodding her head at each emphasis on a word. "The party is great and the punch- tell your wife the punch uhm... it packs a punch." She dissolved into giggles.

Drake pulled Fowler's shoulder, and whispered conspiratorially, "She's been feeling a bit under the weather and took some cold medication before we got here. It's made her all- you know." He tapped the side of his head. Fowler nodded knowingly.

"My wife's just getting over something herself. I hope you won't have to leave soon though?"

"Oh no problemo," Beth piped up, snorting and waving her hand, "I'm fiiiiine. Fine. I feel _great_."

Launchpad stood up now, as well. "Uh- but-"

"But," Drake picked up, "we should really get home soon anyway. My daughter is at home alone--"

"Oh, you have a daughter? I didn't know that! Is Beth..."

Drake coughed. Launchpad said helpfully, "Beth's niece."

"Awwww," said Beth, who was half-listening, in a fond voice. "Aunt Beth. Hee hee hee."

Dorian gave a friendly nod. "Kids are great, huh? Well," he addressed Beth again, "I hope you'll stick around for a while, Beth- we've got something planned for later, I hope you can make it til then."

"Wouldn't miss it!" she said, though her voice was much quieter than it had been before. She pulled herself up out of her chair, almost falling into her boss as she did, and pointed a finger at him. "And you know, Mr. Fowley- I mean Dorian- this is the best job I've ever had- the _best_- I want you to know that. Just- great."

"Well, you do us proud," he said, either not noticing the fact that she'd called him by the wrong last name, or politely overlooking it. He patted her on the shoulder, and gave a little salute to the two men. "Night, all."

"Do you think he knew?" Launchpad said in a stage whisper.

Drake shook his head. "I'm not sure. Maybe not- I think he bought that cold medicine excuse. How're we going to get her out of here now, though?"

Beth plopped back into her chair, and yawned. "I'm sleepy..." she said, and put her head down on the table. Drake grit his teeth and pulled her head back up, gently.

"Stay awake," he instructed her, "for a while longer at least." He turned to Launchpad. "Okay. You go call a taxi. We'll wait until it gets here, then tell Fowler you called home and Gosalyn needs us to come home." He ignored Beth, who was repeating his name in the background.

Launchpad looked uncertain. "Okay, but- Well, he knows you're the Dad, not me. Won't he think it's weird that I called home?"

"Drake! Drake, Drake, Drake..."

"Oh, for- fine. I'll make the phone call, you can stay here and keep an eye on Beth-"

"Drake, listen to me- are you listening?"

"The taxi will probably only take about five-"

"Draaaaaaake-"

"_What_, Beth?" He turned, and she gave him a sleepy smile.

"I think I'm kinda tipsy," she said, apologetically.

Drake groaned. "Oh, no foolin'. LP, watch over her, I'll be right back."

"Drake?"

"WHAT?"

She smiled again, completely unfazed by his anger. "Thanks for taking care of me. You're great, really, you're so great."

He shook his head. "I know."

Beth smiled after him as he went. "He's so sweet," she told Launchpad, who was brushing her bangs out of her eyes as he sat back down next to her. "He's a sweetie-pie."

"Sure," Launchpad said, and sighed. She was gonna feel awful tomorrow... Poor Beth. Actually, they were probably lucky she hadn't been sick yet tonight. He looked around the room, thankful that most people were mingling and not paying much attention to her. Looking back at Beth, he noticed her eyes had closed again as she leaned backwards in the chair. "Hey," he said, poking her shoulder gently. "Hey, Beth, stay awake. C'mon, we'll be home soon."

"Nnn," she grunted, shifting. "Too bright in here." But she straightened up a little bit, and rubbed her eyes.

"Only a little longer, sweetheart," he said again, and took her hand in his.

A female voice behind him said, "Mr. Webfoot, is Beth alright?"

Confused, he turned around to see Fowler's wife watching them with a concerned expression. Had she just called him Mr. Webfoot? "Huh?"

"Your wife- is she feeling alright?" Mrs. Fowler gestured towards Beth with a little handwave that made her fingers flash.

His wife? Wow. She thought Beth was his wife?? Just the idea made his heart swell. His face was suffused in a huge grin, and he stuttered, "Uh- sh- she's fine, just a little tired. Got a cold or... somethin'."

"Oh, good. I was afraid she'd had a bit too much punch." More hand gestures, towards the punchbowl this time.

"Uh-huh... I mean, no- she's fine. We're fine, thanks for askin'." He sounded like Beth, barely able to make coherent conversation, but honestly couldn't think of anything else to say. She stood for a moment or two longer, so he added, "My wife is fine." At that he grinned even wider.

Mrs. Fowler wondered why his face had gone pink. Maybe _he'd_ had a bit too much punch. Oh, well, she could say the same for half of the guests. "I'm relieved. See you at the next company party, I suppose!"

"Yeah," he said, as she walked away. He turned back to Beth, who looked groggy and only half-conscious. "That was kinda funny. She thought we were married."

"Really?" To his surprise, Beth turned to him and gave him an odd smile. "Y'know what?" she said softly, and he leaned closer to her so he could hear her now-slurred words. Still smiling, every breath from her smelling like a liquor cabinet, she said, "I love you."

His mouth went entirely dry. "Y-ya do?"

She nodded, looking entirely at ease with this revelation, even if her head seemed to be almost too heavy for her neck to support. "Yeah. But shhh. You're not s'posed to know." She sat back again, looking satisfied with herself, and Launchpad sat up, a dazed expression on his face.

Okay... So she'd said it while she was drunk, and she hadn't given any signs of a romantic inclination. So, he knew better than to get his hopes up. But boy, just hearing those words from her mouth were enough to make his entire week.

He was too pleased with the situation to notice that Beth had put her head back on the table and was gently snoring.

* * *

Drake came back less than a minute later, and wasn't pleased to find Beth passed out on the table. "LP!" he growled, shaking his sidekick's shoulder, "does 'watch over her' have some kind of alternate meaning that I don't know about??"

"Huh? OH!" Launchpad noticed Beth now, for the first time, and pulled her up. She groaned in protest. "How's the taxi?" he asked as he patted her cheek, while she slumped against him.

Sighing, Drake shook his head. "They don't have one in now. They'll send one as soon as one comes in. Ten minutes at least. Maybe we can take her to stand outside, though."

Launchpad nodded. "I'm gonna need some help keepin' her upright, though."

"I'll go tell Fowler that we're leaving." Drake set off for the head of the table, where Fowler was picking at the last of his meal. "Mr. Fowler-"

"Dorian," he boomed happily. "Any brother of one of my employees gets the same privileges as she does, after all. Or brother-in-law, if that's the case." He slapped Drake on the back heartily.

"Ooookay-fine... Dorian. Beth and Launchpad and I really need to head on home- my daughter's, uh, restless. She might be coming down with what Beth has." There, that had sounded good.

Fowler considered in silence, then nodded. "Gotcha. Poor little tyke- hope she feels better. Well, think you can stick around for five minutes longer?"

"Uh-"

Before Drake could answer, Fowler stood up and clinked his glass to get everyone's attention. The room quieted a moment later, and he said, "I've just been told that our own Ms. Webfoot has to leave us early, so I'm going to move this up a bit! Now many of you know that Beth joined us only very recently, but in such a short time she's shown herself to be a dedicated employee and a responsible, thoughtful person! Fowler-Mergatroid is proud to have her on staff."

Drake could see where this was going, and he'd gone quite cold. He made eye contact with Launchpad across the room, who started redoubling his efforts to awaken Beth. She stirred, and shook her head, her equilibrium almost entirely gone.

Fowler continued his speech. "With this in mind, every effort was made to keep Beth from knowing that the announcement of the Employee of the Year is made at this banquet- just so it would come as a total surprise." He pulled out a plaque, engraved with Beth's name. It flashed in the light. "Is she awake back there?" he asked Drake jokingly. Drake found that his vocal cords had half-frozen.

"Of course," he said. It came out as a squeak.

Dorian Fowler handed him the plaque and shoved him back towards his "sister". "Then go give this to her, ya big lug! Ladies and gentlemen, Beth Webfoot, our Employee of the Year!"

The room burst into heavy applause, and Beth, looking confused, joined in until Launchpad took her hands. The lack of his support on her back caused her to lose her balance and she nearly slid to the floor. Drake arrived and propped her up just in time, and he and Launchpad managed to make it look like she was perhaps taking a bow or something.

The applause quieted down, and Drake realized they were waiting for a speech. He chuckled. "We, uh... we're all proud of Beth!" he said.

"Yep," said Launchpad, "I don't remember ever having been more proud of my wife than I am right now!" Drake stared at him, his jaw agape.

Beth lifted her head. "Where am I?" she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. Drake would have cursed, but fortunately, everyone chuckled.

"That's right, heh heh, she sure is a kidder... Her and her _husband_ both." He glared at his sidekick, who averted his gaze. "Well, I think she's stunned speechless..." The assembled employees of Fowler-Mergatroid gave a collective noise of good-natured disappointment. Drake grimaced- they were going to need to get her to say something, weren't they? He pinched Beth on her back, and she squeaked and woke up. "Say thank you," he hissed.

She looked at her audience, and said in a voice that sounded almost entirely brainless, "Thank you..."

Drake and Launchpad grinned, and started to move her out of the hall. Unfortunately, she kept talking. "Thank you all _so much_... I- I dunno when I've been this- hic this happy..." To her friends' horror, she started to sob loudly. "I wanna thank my mo-mother, an' the Academy for b'lievin' in me... YOU'RE ALL SO GREAT!!"

The room burst into loud applause, and most of the guests got to their feet and beamed at her as they clapped. Drake raised one of her arms, as surreptitiously as he could, and waved it at them. "Now, LP, we're getting out of here _now_." He pulled Beth's dead weight through the crowd, smiling and calling "Thank you!" in a hearty voice as he went.

They had some trouble at the door, and Launchpad had to struggle to keep his support on her and keep the door open wide enough for all three of them to get out, but they made it and stood in the open air for the first time in what seemed like days.

Drake relished the quiet for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, we got out without her embarrassing herself too much."

"She didn't embarrass herself!" said Launchpad sincerely.

Raising an eyebrow, Drake stared at his sidekick. "You have got to be kidding me."

Launchpad fidgeted. "Well, I just don't think anybody really noticed, that's all. They probably all thought she was nice, an' talkative, and kinda sleepy or somethin'. You heard how much they clapped for her."

"True," Drake conceded. After a moment, he grinned. "She does seem pretty popular there, considering how nervous she was before."

"Unhhh.." Beth moved, then put a hand to her bill. "Oh guys- I think I'm gonna be-"

Drake and Launchpad pulled her back into the building quickly, yelling for directions to the bathroom.

* * *

Five minutes later, the taxi pulled up. Launchpad put his jacket over Beth's shoulders, as she was shivering now, and they piled in. The taxi had barely driven off before Beth's head was back and she was snoring loudly.

Drake grumbled to himself. Launchpad, on the other hand, felt the evening had been pretty decent. "It's just too bad she won't remember it at all."

"I think she's lucky," Drake said, staring out the window and trying to talk over Beth's snores.

"Yeah, she sure is." From the cheerful way Launchpad said this, it was clear he meant something different from Drake's comment.

"I meant lucky that she won't remember it," he clarified.

"Oh." Launchpad thought about this, and then said, "Nah, I don't think so. I mean, she got the Employee of the Year award, DW! She's not even gonna remember how all those people clapped for her!"

Drake gave him a sarcastic glare. "Yeah, and she won't remember that you've never been prouder of your wife than you were tonight."

Blushing, Launchpad said, "There's a story behind that."

"Uh-huh. There's a story in all of this." Drake went back to looking out of the window. He snorted softly. "Your wife." A moment later, he added, "I'm the one she called cute, anyway."

"Yeah, well, she said she _loved_ me." Launchpad grinned as Drake turned and stared at him incredulously, then at Beth.

Finally he shook his head. "I'd never have had her pegged for an amorous drunk. I always thought she'd be weepy somehow." He grinned a little, and pulled some of Beth's hair out of her mouth as she slept. She rolled over, mumbled something, and cuddled up against Launchpad. The pilot's grin doubled in size. Drake snickered. "Looks like it's your night, LP."

"Nah," said Launchpad, "it's her night. We were just there for it."

Drake snorted again and rolled his eyes, but said nothing as the taxi sped them home.

* * *

Next: Loose Ends Go Poof (and some more pop up).

* * *

_A/N: So, yeah, this is kinda shmoopy at the end but it was fun to write a drunk Beth. This is iffy in my continuity - the next story after this one seems to come in right after "Something In the Air" - but I wrote this within a couple of days back in '00 when the idea occurred to me, without thinking of continuity. So just don't think about it too hard, and if it really bugs you, consider it "unofficial". _

_So, updates after this will be VERY scarce, because I am writing the next story right now instead of having it lying around for the past seven years (or more). The good news is, it's coming; the bad news is, it's not coming all that fast. Oh, well; I think I've inundated poor with enough of my old fics for now. Give y'all a breather, right? _

_Part of what has kept this next story from being written for so long has been my determination to focus most of the story on the action plot, despite the fact that it has to deal with a **MAJOR** emotional plot point. Finding the balance has been tricky, and I have always had difficulty writing "action" stuff anyway. But, "High, Dry, and Flooded" - unless I change the title again before releasing it - should at least start coming up here pretty soon. I'll just post in chunks, as I get large enough portions done. _

_Thanks for following my storylines, guys, and thanks as ever for reviewing._

* * *

Story © 2000 by R. Littlehales. Characters of Drake Mallard and Launchpad McQuack © WDC; all others by me, that chick whose name was mentioned in the first sentence. Don't distribute without permission from me, don't sell, don't steal, don't run with scissors. This story may not be altered in any way without express permission (that's the very speedy kind) from the author (ooh, who might that be?). This story may not be made into a board game, unless that delightful Pop-O-Matic device is involved, because those just make me melt- they're sooooo cool!


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